Turquoise Girl

by Thurlo, David

  “An act like this puts things out of balance, and bad luck always follows,” she said. “The one who killed our sheep doesn’t realize that yet. But he will.”

  “I’m going to be his bad luck, Mom, count on it.”

  “Maybe I should have my son do a Hozonji for us, a Song of Blessing…or maybe a Blessing Way, if he has time.”

  “I’m sure my brother would be happy to do either of those for you,” Ella said. A Blessing Way was a purification ceremony, a way to start anew and stop looking back in fear. It would do her mother a world of good. “Call him, Mom.”

  Ella had already arranged for an officer to check on Clifford and warn him to stay on his guard. Later, she’d call Clifford herself. As she walked outside, Ella remembered the words of restoration sung during the Blessing Way ceremony, Hózhone háaz’dlíí, “it is beautiful all around me.” It was just what her mother needed now.

  Ella called Ford’s cell number and waited. Reception on the Navajo Nation was iffy at best on a cell phone. But there was good coverage the entire distance between Shiprock and Farmington, and though the battery on her own phone was getting low, the call went through.

  Ford answered on the first ring. “I’ve been hoping you’d call,” he said. “I’ve been worried about you. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about things going on today….”

  “No doubt,” she said, aware of how quickly gossip traveled. “I need to see you now about the case. Where are you?”

  “Home.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Ford lived just off the reservation in the community of Waterflow, located north of the old coal power plant. He’d lived in the parsonage behind the church for some time, but had eventually opted to buy his own place rather than share a home with Reverend Campbell, also unmarried. Since no one could actually “own” land on the Rez, he’d ended up here, a stone’s throw—literally—from the reservation borders.

  His modest two-bedroom home was on an acre of what had once been an old alfalfa field. There were parcels of residential property all around him where agriculture had slowly given way to the developers. Ella walked up the flagstone path from the driveway and knocked. Ford answered a second later, his giant dog, Abednego, beside him. The dog, a cross between a giant schnauzer and something of indeterminate background, stood calmly next to Ford, a toy monkey clenched in his mouth. He was Ford’s constant companion, and Ella knew that Ford loved the mutt he’d found as a puppy beside an irrigation ditch and hand raised.

  Ella was tall, but on all fours Abednego nearly reached her waist. “I think he’s grown,” Ella said.

  “You’re not wearing your boots, so you’re shorter tonight,” Ford answered with a chuckle.

  Ella bent down to pet him, and the dog wagged its stubby tail. “At least I know you’ve got a great guard dog.”

  “You’re right about that. Strangers take one look and back away.”

  Ford led the way into the kitchen though a living room so crowded with bookshelves that it looked more like a library. “I just made a pot of chamomile tea. Would you like a cup? It won’t keep you awake.”

  “That’s the least of my worries. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight, if you want the truth, not well anyway.” She described the scene she’d left behind at her mother’s house.

  Ford’s face hardened. “Your mother and her husband weren’t hurt?”

  “If anyone would have tried to hurt my mother, Herman would have pulled the trigger without hesitation. He’s not at all helpless.”

  Ford watched her for a moment. “But that isn’t why you wanted to talk to me at this hour, right? Let me guess. The butcher left something for you? Another note?”

  “A message.” She handed him the copy of the note she’d made. “Is this from the Bible?”

  He read it quickly. “It’s not an exact quote, no. A juxtaposition of the real text, maybe. Or maybe just something he’s adapted to justify whatever mission he’s on.”

  “Funny you should put it that way. I think he’s on a mission, too. I’m just not getting a handle on what it could be. It’s been a long time since I’ve tried to get into the head of a killer like the one committing these crimes.”

  “Do you think it’s someone affiliated in some way to your father’s church?”

  Ella took a deep breath, looking down and seeing that Abednego had dropped the toy monkey at her feet. The big dog was sitting in front of her, waiting to play.

  She was too tired to take the bait. “I’m thinking it could be a parishioner who was there at the time my father preached and that narrows it down—to several hundred. But maybe we can at least verify that two of the three victims were members. We’ve got the search for that membership list scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ve found someone who may be able to give you some useful background information. She was a member of the Divine Word at the time your father was there. She attends Good Shepherd now but, as she tells me every time we get a new member, she likes to know the people she worships with,” he said, handing her a slip of paper with a name, Lori Neathery, and an address.

  “The lady is quite elderly,” he added, “but she’s as sharp as a tack and has a great memory. Well, let me amend that. She may not remember what she ate for breakfast, but she can describe with uncanny accuracy events that happened twenty years ago. But be aware that, depending on her mood, she may give you some problems. She didn’t like your father, and she doesn’t like the Navajo police either. Mrs. Neathery admires the efforts of the Fierce Ones, too.”

  “Thanks, and if you come up with anything that might give me some insights into the message or the person who left the note, call me anytime—day or night.”

  “Of course. You’re staying at Justine’s house, right?”

  “Yeah, for now.” Seeing the dog was still patiently waiting, hoping she’d play, Ella reached down, grabbed the toy monkey for Abednego, and threw it across the room. He retrieved it then dropped it back on her lap. She threw it again. “Okay, boy, enough for now,” she said, standing. “I better get going. I’ve got to get some sleep tonight.”

  Ford snapped his fingers and the dog came over, sitting at heel. “The guy you’re after is playing you, Ella. He knew where to hit to make you lose perspective. Looking back, he may have done it before, and you just haven’t made the connection yet. But don’t let him get to you or divert your course. If you do, he wins.”

  “My turn’s coming,” she said flatly. “Believe it.”

  Ella drove slowly, careful not to let her weariness affect her driving. Thirty minutes later, she slipped inside the house as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake Emily if she was already asleep. As she entered the living room, she found Emily and Justine sitting by the fireplace.

  “You might try some of this herbal mix,” Justine said, and yawned. “I got it from your mother. She said it would help us get some rest.”

  Ella picked up the pot and poured some of the amber liquid into a mug. She knew her mother’s teas did as she predicted and, somehow, she had to get some sleep tonight.

  Emily glanced at both of them. “You two look like you’ve been to Hell and back.”

  Ella looked at her thoughtfully and nodded. “You know, Em, I think we have.”

  Fourteen

  Ella and Justine arrived at the station around seven-thirty in the morning. Despite the tea, dark images had crowded Ella’s dreams, often jarring her awake. Although they hadn’t compared notes, based on Justine’s mood, Ella had a feeling it had been the same for her partner.

  “I’m going to the crime lab and process evidence,” Justine said. “Tache has photo evidence from last night he needs to work on.”

  Ella nodded once. “I’ll be at Reverend Curtis’s church looking for that old list of church members. Blalock will probably join me there,” she said. “Call if you find anything we can use.”

  As Justine walked down the hall, Ella dialed Blalock’s number and he ans
wered on the first ring.

  “You must have ESP, Clah,” he said. “I was about to call you. Ride with me this morning. Marco Pete is out of ICU so I’m going to interview him again. This time the gloves will be off.”

  “Okay and, after that, we need to go over to the church and look at their membership records. There’s someone else we should go see today, too,” she added, telling him about Lori Neathery. “She may remember someone who isn’t on the list.”

  “Sounds like we’ve got another busy day,” Blalock said.

  Ella met with Blalock twenty minutes later and, at her suggestion they took her loaner tribal cruiser instead of the Bureau car.

  “By the way, I ran into Bruce Little this morning,” Blalock said. “He told me to tell you he’s on the job and no one’s getting anywhere near your mother’s place again. And he’s got your daughter’s place covered, too.”

  Ella smiled. She didn’t doubt Teeny for a moment. “He’s a good friend.”

  When they arrived at the hospital, Blalock went to the desk and paged Marco Pete’s doctor. Dr. Steinberg, according to his name tag, came to meet with them several minutes later.

  “We need to question your patient again, Doctor. I’m assuming we have free rein now that he’s out of ICU?” Blalock asked.

  Steinberg, in his late twenties and prematurely balding—an affliction rare among Navajos—nodded. “We’ve done all we can for him and he’s recovering quickly, but if he doesn’t stop drinking, his future’s an early grave.”

  Blalock thanked Steinberg, and as the doctor walked away Ella considered how many people on the Rez would qualify for the same prognosis. She didn’t recall a time when alcoholism wasn’t on the rise. It seemed to go hand in hand with poverty, which the Rez also had in abundance.

  Ella followed Blalock into the semiprivate room, which Marco had to himself at the moment, and found him in the bed beside the window, gazing outside. From his records Ella knew Marco was only in his fifties, but his hard drinking made him look much older.

  He turned when they’d knocked and once Ella had flashed her badge, Marco had exhaled loudly in resignation. “I wasn’t drinking that much. The blood tests were wrong.”

  “Then what happened? Did someone run you off the road?” Ella asked.

  He shook his head. “It was my fault. I lost control of the pickup. Headlights were coming up fast behind me, like I was being chased. So I drove faster. But then I hit a piece of firewood or something on the road and the wheel jerked out of my hand. I hit the brakes, but I went right down into a ditch or something.”

  “Did the person behind stop to help you?”

  “Yeah. It was a kid. Don’t know who. He tried to get me out, but the door was pinned shut. He moved some brush and rocks, but it still wouldn’t open. He hightailed it out of there after that. I had a lot of blood on my face, and I think he thought I was dying. Didn’t want to be around for that, you know?”

  “What gave you the idea you were being chased?” Ella asked. Intuition told her that there was a connection.

  Marco looked away from her, then stared at his hands. Ella heard Blalock shift from foot to foot, restless. FB-Eyes was a graduate of the “lean on ’em” interrogation school at Quantico.

  “Things just kept going wrong for me that day,” he said slowly. “It all started when I decided to pay an old friend a visit. She and I…well, we’d had good times once. I was hoping to take her out to dinner, maybe a movie, then spend the night with her if I could.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Blalock pressured. “A woman with a jealous husband?”

  He looked around, then whispered the name. “Valerie Tso,” he said. “I’d heard stories that she’d found religion and wasn’t partying anymore, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask. But when I got to her apartment something just didn’t feel right. It was…too quiet. No radio, no TV, no nothing. I walked over and peeked in the bedroom window. There was broken glass and blood everywhere. I ran back to my truck and got out of there fast.”

  “Did you see the killer, or the body?” Blalock asked.

  “I didn’t see anyone—dead or alive. But I wasn’t going to stick around. Valerie’s place hadn’t gotten that way by itself.”

  “Why didn’t you go call the police?” Ella asked.

  “Are you crazy? I’m the glonnie, the drunk who gets blamed for everything. Once I saw all that blood I knew someone in there was probably either dead or close to it. I wasn’t about to stick around.”

  “So you drove off,” Ella said.

  “Yeah, but then I looked down and saw the gas tank was on empty. So I spent some of the money I’d earned cleaning up the Double Play after hours, my date money, filling up the tank. I was thinking about maybe going to Albuquerque and staying a while. I knew that whatever had happened back there was going to be in the news one way or another, and I wanted to be long gone by the time you all started investigating.”

  “After you left the gas station, those headlights came up fast from behind, right?” Blalock asked, keeping him on track.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know it was just a kid. I thought maybe someone at Valerie’s had seen me driving away and decided I had to be stopped. Face it, if someone had forced me off the road, everyone would have just assumed it was my fault—just another drunk Navajo getting in a wreck.”

  “I need you to think back. What exactly did you see when you peered in the window?” Ella asked.

  “Her stuff, clothes and things, were scattered all over the place and there was blood everywhere. I’d never seen that much blood in my life. It scared me spitless.”

  “Did you hear anything?” Ella pressed.

  He thought about it for a long time then finally spoke. “I thought I heard a man crying but I’m not sure. It wasn’t the TV, because that hit show was on, the one where kids try out to be a rock star. Someone was singing.”

  Ella and Blalock exchanged quick glances, then Ella looked back at Marco. “One last question. Did you happen to see a red Ford truck by the diner that night?”

  “The one that belongs to the owner of the Morning Stop Café?” Seeing her nod, he added. “Maybe, or else it was another night I’m thinking about. Valerie’s car was there for sure. But I’m getting things mixed up in my mind again. Dr. Stein-something said that the bump on my head might cause me to lose my memory about things. Or maybe it’s because I drink too much.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Ella said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Blalock walked down the hall with Ella, but didn’t comment until they were outside in the parking lot. “Do I have to remind you that Brewster doesn’t have a solid alibi?”

  “If her death was accidental, I can see him trashing the place to make it look like a robbery. But the rest just doesn’t make sense. I mean why clean up the area around the vic, change her clothes, and write that note? That doesn’t fit Stan Brewster.”

  “Unless he decided after the fact to try and frame Reverend Campbell.”

  “It still doesn’t sound right to me,” Ella said flatly.

  “Let’s go lean on Brewster again and point out that we have a witness who can put him there at the right time.”

  “We’ll have to hope he reacts the way we want him to. As far as witnesses go, Marco’s just not reliable,” Ella said. “But first let’s go by the Divine Word Church, talk to Reverend Curtis, and check out those membership records,” Ella added. “If Stan Brewster’s on one of the lists, that’ll give us even more to discuss when we see him again.”

  When they arrived at the church Reverend Curtis was watering the plants near the front entrance. Seeing them, he turned off the faucet and went to meet them.

  “I hope you’re ready for a little dust,” he said. “Actually, it could be more than a little. We have a cleaning woman but the attic isn’t her responsibility, and it’s been a long time since anyone’s poked around up there except to put something in storage. The records are inside metal file cabinets so the mice can’t get
to them.”

  He looked at Ella and continued. “By the way, there’s a nest of mice up there somewhere. I didn’t have the heart to put out the live traps and relocate them because it’s still pretty cold at night. They run around everywhere up there so I hope mice don’t bother you.”

  “Not unless they’re armed,” Ella replied with a tiny smile. “People are capable of far more damage.”

  His expression didn’t change.

  “We’ve been hearing a lot of stories about the church when my father was the preacher,” Ella continued. “By any chance, were you a member of this congregation when he was the minister?”

  “I’ve been a member of this church since I could walk.”

  “Then maybe you can clarify something we heard from several other sources.”

  His expression was guarded. “Looking to stir up trouble?”

  “Not even close. Understand, Reverend Curtis, that neither you nor this church is our priority. All we want is to catch whoever killed Valerie Tso, and maybe two other Navajo women as well.”

  He exhaled loudly. “I’m probably being oversensitive. I am very protective of this church. It’s my calling and my love, if you can understand that.”

  The glimmer of humanity in the otherwise annoying man surprised her. “I’ve heard that some of the women attended the service only to see my dad, and he didn’t mind because at least they were coming to church.”

  He smiled. “That was probably true—or at least half true. Your father was very charismatic, but the younger women had another reason for attending our services. We had a real natzee in the midst of us at the time. Do you know that term?”

  “Cancer…or more literally something that’s rotting,” Ella answered.

  “Yes. A Romeo who was, in the words of my nephew, a babe magnet. He was nothing but trouble, mind you, but that didn’t stop the young ladies from being drawn to him like moths to a flame. It’s often that way, I’ve noticed,” he said, leading them down the church corridor. “That was years ago so I don’t remember his name, but I do recall that he was a constant source of aggravation for Reverend Destea—your father.”